Dust off that old fella and replay your favorite games from the early 2000s!
Spira doesn’t just feel like a setting; it feels like a whole belief system you’re slowly learning to live inside, from blitzball obsession to rituals that carry real weight. The jump to full voice acting gave the story a different kind of intimacy for its time, and even now the game’s emotional beats land because it commits to sincerity instead of winking at itself. Combat is turn-based, but it’s brisk and tactical, with party swapping that turns boss fights into puzzles rather than stat checks. It’s also a PS2 showcase in the way people forget: bright water, expressive faces, and that sense of stepping into a “next-gen” RPG era. You can argue about mini-games forever, but as a complete journey, it’s still one of the system’s defining experiences. | © Square Enix
The most dangerous thing about this game is how easy it is to say “one more race” and then look up two hours later with a garage full of questionable neon decisions. It took street racing culture and turned it into a progression loop that felt personal, because your car wasn’t just faster – it was yours, down to the ridiculous vinyls and body kits. The open-city structure made cruising part of the fantasy, with events scattered around like invitations you couldn’t ignore. Handling is arcade-clean, the sense of speed is generous, and the soundtrack is basically a time capsule of the era. Even now, it hits that sweet spot where grinding for upgrades feels like the point, not the chore. | © EA Black Box
Neon sunsets, pastel suits, and a radio soundtrack that makes you drive the long way on purpose – this is the rare open world that sells a whole mood in the first five minutes. The story is pulpy crime fantasy, but the real magic is how alive the city feels, from beaches to back alleys to highways that beg for reckless speed. For PS2 players, it also cemented the idea that a game world could be a toybox: steal a car, improvise a plan, cause chaos, disappear, repeat. It’s smaller than later GTA maps, yet the density and personality make it feel bigger than it is. When people talk about “peak GTA vibes,” they’re usually thinking of Vice City. | © Rockstar North
On paper, the premise sounds like a dare – Final Fantasy characters colliding with Disney worlds in an action RPG – and somehow it works because it commits with a straight face. The combat is approachable but satisfying, mixing floaty swordplay with magic and party synergy that keeps fights moving. What really hooks people, though, is the vibe: bright worlds, earnest friendships, and a story that starts simple before it spins into its own mythology rabbit hole. As a PS2-era blockbuster, it also nailed spectacle, letting you explore familiar places with the excitement of a kid wandering off the movie screen. It’s charming, occasionally melodramatic, and completely singular – the kind of game that turns casual curiosity into a lifelong fandom. | © Square Enix
This isn’t horror built on jump scares; it’s horror built on dread, grief, and the slow realization that the town is listening to your thoughts. The fog and decay aren’t just atmosphere – they’re the game’s language, hiding answers and forcing you to sit with uncomfortable silence. What makes it timeless is how psychological it is, turning enemy design and story beats into mirrors rather than monster-of-the-week set dressing. The PS2 visuals, slightly blurred and uncanny, almost help the mood, making everything feel half-remembered and wrong. It’s also surprisingly restrained: the game trusts you to connect dots, then punishes you emotionally when you do. Few titles leave you feeling haunted for reasons that have nothing to do with ghosts. | © Team Silent
Revenge stories usually run out of gas once they hit “angry,” but this one keeps finding new gears – bigger gods, louder set pieces, and a sense that the whole mythological world is collapsing just to spite you. Combat is fast and brutal without becoming sloppy, letting you juggle enemies, swap weapons, and feel clever even while you’re being ridiculous. What makes it a PS2 classic isn’t just spectacle; it’s how confidently it moves, hopping from puzzles to boss fights to platforming without the seams showing. The scale is absurd for the hardware, and it somehow still looks and feels like a finale even though it’s the middle chapter. By the time you reach the ending, it doesn’t feel like the game ran out of ideas – it feels like it stopped because the console physically couldn’t take any more. | © Santa Monica Studio
The opening village fight is still one of the best “welcome to hell” moments on the PS2 – not because it’s flashy, but because it teaches you the new rules in pure panic. This was the game that pulled the series away from stiff survival-horror corridors and into a tighter over-the-shoulder rhythm, where every shot matters and every reload feels like a decision. It’s also weirdly funny in a way only Resident Evil can be: absurd villains, one-liners, and set pieces that keep escalating like the game is trying to outdo itself every chapter. The pacing is ruthless, constantly switching environments and threats before you get comfortable. Even when you know it by heart, it has that rollercoaster quality where you keep playing because stopping would break the momentum. | © Capcom Production Studio 4
There’s almost nothing “busy” about this game, and that emptiness is the point – a huge, quiet world where every ride feels like you’re trespassing on something ancient. The loop is simple: find a colossus, climb it, hang on, and do it again, but each fight feels like solving a moving architecture puzzle while your hands sweat. What makes it unforgettable is the tone: the music, the scale, and the uncomfortable sense that victory might not be heroic. The PS2 has no business pulling off creatures this massive with this much personality, yet it does, and the jank becomes part of the tension rather than a dealbreaker. You finish it feeling like you witnessed something, not like you checked off content. It’s minimalism with teeth, and it still hits like a myth you played instead of read. | © Team Ico
Instead of sneaking through vents and cameras, you’re dropped into a jungle where survival itself becomes part of the stealth fantasy. Eating, healing, managing camouflage, reading terrain – all of it turns every encounter into a slow, paranoid little story you’re writing on the fly. The Cold War spy vibe is pulpy and sincere at the same time, with boss fights that feel like weird folklore and cutscenes that fully commit to the melodrama. It’s also one of those rare prequels that makes the original games hit harder, because you finally understand where the legend came from. Even the clunky bits become memorable because they’re attached to such specific ideas. On PS2, it’s a perfect example of ambition that doesn’t just add more features – it changes how you play. | © Konami Computer Entertainment Japan
If Vice City is a vibe, San Andreas is a whole life simulator wrapped in a crime epic – and it’s still shocking how much it lets you do without ever begging for your attention. The map is enormous for its era, but the real flex is variety: cities with different personalities, rural stretches, casinos, jets, gang wars, weird side jobs, and mini-games that can hijack your night. It also nails that feeling of rising from nothing to something, because the world keeps opening up as your story gets bigger. The writing is bombastic, but the freedom is the hook: you can follow the plot or just exist in the sandbox and make your own chaos. For a PS2 player, it felt like the console suddenly got bigger – like it was hiding an entire other game inside it. | © Rockstar North
The PS2 era was messy in the best way: experimental sequels, weird new IPs, and blockbusters that didn’t feel manufactured yet. It’s the console where you can pick a random genre and still find a classic that aged better than it has any right to.
Some of these picks are obvious giants, others are the kind of games people only remember once you say the name and they go, “Oh wow, yeah.” Either way, this is a tour through the PS2 titles that still hold up when you actually sit down and play them.
